Sweeping Zen » Ikko Narasakihttp://sweepingzen.com
The Who's Who of Zen BuddhismSat, 21 Mar 2015 14:49:49 +0000en-UShourly1http://wordpress.org/?v=4.1.1Rohatsu Sesshin at Zuiojihttp://sweepingzen.com/rohatsi-sesshin-at-zuioji/
http://sweepingzen.com/rohatsi-sesshin-at-zuioji/#commentsThu, 07 Jul 2011 16:44:07 +0000http://sweepingzen.com/?p=35709From 1987 to 1990, I practiced Zen Buddhism as a monk in Japan at two monasteries, Zuioji and Shogoji. Zuioji is a long established training monastery in the city of Niihama, on the island of Shikoku. When I trained there, it housed thirty to forty monks. When I practiced at Shogoji, it was a budding ...

]]>From 1987 to 1990, I practiced Zen Buddhism as a monk in Japan at two monasteries, Zuioji and Shogoji. Zuioji is a long established training monastery in the city of Niihama, on the island of Shikoku. When I trained there, it housed thirty to forty monks. When I practiced at Shogoji, it was a budding international monastery in the mountains of Kumamoto Prefecture, on the island of Kyushu. There were never more than six of us in residence there at any one time. The abbot of both monasteries was Rev. Ikko Narasaki, one of the most respected Sōtō Zen Masters in twentieth-century Japan. Narasaki-roshi died in 1996 at the age of seventy-five.

I first went to Japan to practice at the suggestion of my master, Rev. Dainin Katagiri. At that time, Shogoji was barely getting started, and I would be the first Western priest in residence there. However, Narasaki-roshi had decided, and Katagiri-roshi had agreed, that it would be best if I began training at Zuioji. The practice there according to Zen Master Dogen’s way had been established in the 1950’s. Narasaki-roshi felt that practicing at Zuioji with a large group of monks would ground me in those daily practices. I would then be well-versed in them before I went to Shogoji, where there were only three monks in residence.

It was very difficult for me at Zuioji. Although I had spent two years at Tassajara Zen Monastery in California before going to Japan and was not a monastic rookie, the practice at Zuioji was much different – the pace was quicker, the winter temperatures colder, the work load heavier, the practice forms different, the physical expectations higher, and Japanese culture impenetrable, at first, to foreigners. Also, I spoke no Japanese when I began, and although there was a Canadian monk in residence at Zuioji who acted as my translator, he wasn’t immediately available at all times. None of the Japanese monks were anywhere near fluent in English, so the language barrier was formidable, and sometimes impenetrable.

To make things worse, I had been practicing at Tassajara with people who were there because they wanted to be there. Many had left careers and families, at least temporarily, to pursue the spiritual path in a monastic setting. We were all serious monks. It was also exciting at Tassajara. Zen Buddhist monastic practice was still quite new in America, and like most new enterprises, a vibrant, fresh spirit permeated the place. Many different teachers visited Tassajara, and we looked forward to their dharma talks. No one missed them. At Zuioji, the monks were, with few exceptions, the sons of temple priests. They were mostly young men in their early twenties who were there to gain certification allowing them to take over their fathers’ temples. Most of them didn’t want to be there and were counting the days until they could leave. Dharma talks were regarded as nap time, and although there were a few serious monks at Zuioji, most of them were more interested in discussing the varieties of food available on American supermarket shelves than they were in discussing the Buddhadharma. I was forty-five when I arrived at Zuioji, and I was there because I wanted to be there. I felt like a graybeard trapped in a boys’ boarding school.

My biggest difficulty, however, was my inability to accept that relatively little zazen was practiced at Zuioji. There was a heavy emphasis on ceremony and ritual. At that time in American temples, there was relatively little ceremony and ritual practice. Most Soto Zen rituals had not been transmitted to America yet. Consequently, American Zen Buddhist practitioners judged the seriousness of a practitioner and the viability of a practice place by the amount of zazen sat on a daily basis. At Zuioji, evening zazen was frequently canceled for one reason or another. Either we had been working too hard, or we had to practice for special ceremonies that were coming up, or there was some special instruction scheduled. Sometimes, we’d sit only one short zazen period in the morning. It was much less zazen than I was used to, and I had a hard time accepting it.

I stayed at Zuioji for three months, under protest – severe protest. In fact, I protested as much and often as I could! Looking back on it now, I’m a little sheepish at how much trouble I caused, for my attitude toward practice at Zuioji has completely changed. Fortunately for me, Narasaki-roshi and the other monks at Zuioji returned my frustration, anger, and hostility with kindness and generosity. Their behavior was to their credit, but to me, it was frustrating. I gave them a hard time, and they were extremely kind to me. The nerve of them!

However, life at Zuioji was not always bad. Japanese monks also have difficulties adjusting to monastic life. I and the other newcomers were in it together, and I made some good friends there. Some of it was even fun, and I was learning a lot in spite of myself. When I left Zuioji for Shogoji after three months, however, I swore that I’d never set foot in that place again!

At Shogo-ji, things were better for me. It was more relaxed, deep in the mountains, and the language problems weren’t as severe. Although I was the only Westerner there, I had practiced in America with the Head Monk, who was Japanese. We were good friends, and he spoke fluent English. Another Shogoji monk, Daiji, spoke very little English, but he was eager to try, and my Japanese was improving in direct proportion to the necessity of speaking it. Daiji and I were determined to communicate, and he helped me a lot. With one exception, the four monks already there were committed to the practice and to zazen, so we sat more. Things smoothed out for me at Shogoji, and my crises came and went less frequently.

One crisis, however, arose with regularity. Since I had been ordained four years before, I had been focusing my practice on daily zazen and on sesshin, concentrated retreats of from two to seven days. When I was practicing in Minneapolis with Katagiri-roshi, we sat either a two-day or seven-day sesshin every month. This type of practice was also followed at San Francisco Zen Center, where I practiced when I first went to California, and also at Tassajara. Even though I had been constantly admonished by my teachers not to seek after any particular state of mind and not to hold onto any state of mind that arises, I had become particularly enamored of the broad, spacious state of mind that arises during long, concentrated sitting. Whenever things got unsettled in my monastic life at Shogoji, I’d get desperate for sesshin, as I always did when life got sticky and I became un-balanced and un-grounded.

At Shogoji, sesshins were non-existent when I began there, and after a time, we sat evening zazen less and less. We were working very hard to get the place in shape. Until two Zuioji monks came to Shogoji a year before I got there, there had been no residents there for many years and the condition of the buildings and grounds had deteriorated. We could sit zazen in the evening if we wanted to, but I was the only one who ever wanted to. It got pretty lonely after a while, and at that time, more loneliness was not what I needed.

In the Fall of my first year in Japan, a severe crisis developed for me. We had begun sitting modified three-day sesshins once a month in the Summer, but in September and November, both sesshins were cancelled, once because the Head Monk felt we had to thoroughly clean the place for one of Narasaki-roshi’s infrequent visits and once because of a begging trip coordinated with monks from Zuioji. Once again, I began to deeply question why I was there. Because I was not doing well, I began to long for sesshin. Zazen was the only thing that ever helped me make sense of my life, and sesshins always helped me get my bearings.

In December, Soto Zen practice places all over the world sit Rohatsu Sesshin, a seven-day retreat that ends on or near Buddha’s Enlightenment Day, December 8th. I had reluctantly accepted missing the second mini-sesshin in a row at Shogoji, but when I heard that we were not sitting Rohatsu because there were too few of us, I strongly protested. It got me nowhere, and I went into a deep funk. I finally decided that somehow, somewhere, I was going to sit Rohatsu sesshin, and I asked the Head Monk to speak to Narasaki-roshi and tell him that I wanted to sit Rohatsu sesshin at Hosshinji, a Soto Zen monastery far to the north of Shogoji, on the main Japanese island of Honshu. One of my dharma sisters – another disciple of Katagiri-roshi’s – was practicing there, as were other Westerners, and I’d heard good things about Hosshinji sesshins.

I knew that this was a somewhat radical request, but I didn’t know how radical. When I first asked, I didn’t realize that it would be completely out of the question. To sit at Hosshinji, I would have to formally leave Shogoji! This would mean giving up Narasaki-roshi’s support, which I needed to live in Japan, and causing major embarrassment for both Narasaki-roshi and Katagiri-roshi. In other words, if I went, I couldn’t come back.

Narasaki-roshi was not quite so blunt, however, although I heard through the grapevine that he was not pleased with my request. He told the Head Monk to tell me that if I wanted to sit Rohatsu Sesshin, I was welcome to do so at Zuioji.

Well, I had sworn six months earlier never to set foot in Zuioji again, so I was faced with a dilemma. It soon became clear that if I were going to sit Rohatsu Sesshin, which I desperately needed to do, it would have to be at Zuioji. So, I was trapped. I reluctantly decided to go back to Zuioji and sit sesshin there. Surprisingly, It became one of the pivotal experiences of my life.

The day before the beginning of Rohatsu sesshin, I arrived at Zuioji apprehensive and tense. My previous experience there was not a good one, and I knew that one particular issue was sure to arise. I’ve never been a limber person, especially from the waist down, and I’ve had trouble with my knees and ankles ever since I started sitting zazen. I injured one knee cross-country skiing many years before, shortly after I stared daily sitting. Also, I had previously sprained and strained my knees and ankles many times over the years playing various sports. When I began sitting with Katagiri-roshi, I sat in a kneeling posture (Jap. seiza) for three years because my legs were not limber enough to sit cross-legged. It was only after a year of concentrated exercise that I was able to begin sitting in Burmese posture and after another year of exercise that I was able to begin sitting half-lotus.

When I first came to Zuioji, my knee and leg problems were exacerbated, because mainstream Soto Zen Monasteries in Japan, and Zuioji was one, do not use zabutons, large square cushions on which we place a round cushion (zafu). We sit on the round cushion and our legs from the knees down rest on the square one. At Zuioji, they place the zafu on tatami, large woven grass mats. They are much harder than zabutons. Because of my physical problems, I found sitting on tatami for long periods of time excruciatingly painful.

I had previously spoken to Narasaki-roshi many times about my problem, and at Shogoji, I was allowed to use a zabuton. Shogoji’s Head Monk, whose name was Ekai and who was accompanying me to Zuioji, assured me that I could use one there.

Shortly after arriving at Zuioji, I put a zabuton at my sitting place. When I arrived for evening zazen the day before sesshin, however, it had been removed. When I saw this, I left the zendo and angrily stalked back to the room where I was staying with Ekai and blurted out,

“They took my zabuton; you assured me I could use one!”

He replied, “Narasaki-roshi said no.”

“What the hell do you mean he said ‘no.’ When did he say no? You told me at Shogoji that I could use one.”

“He told me a little while ago.”

“A little while ago! Didn’t you ask him before we came? If I’d have known I couldn’t use one, I wouldn’t have come! And I won’t stay If I can’t use one.”

Ekai got up, and as he left the room, he said that he’d talk to Narasaki-roshi about it. So, I went back to the zendo and suffered through a painful period of zazen.

That night before bed, I asked Ekai if he’d spoken to Narasaki-roshi.

“No,” he replied.

“Well, you’d better because I’m not sitting sesshin tomorrow without a zabuton.”

“Get a good night’s sleep,” he replied, as he once more left the room.

The next morning, I went to the zendo early and again found no zabuton. I went back to the room and told Ekai. He said, “I talked to Narasaki-roshi last night, and he said you couldn’t have one.”

“You talked to him last night?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Silence

“You knew last night, and you didn’t tell me?”

More silence

“I told you. No zabuton; no sesshin. I’m going back to Shogoji.”

I began to angrily pack my things, and Ekai left the room.

My mental state was not the best as I was throwing my clothes into my traveling bag. I had been reluctant to come back here anyway, and I was angry with myself for doing so, angry at Ekai for talking me into it and not checking about the zabuton before we left Shogoji, angry at Narasaki-roshi for being insensitive to my physical problems, and angry at Katagiri-roshi for sending me to Zuioji in the first place.

As I was stuffing my belongings into the bag, I came across an envelope give to me by Toshiko, an old woman who lived in a small house on Shogoji’s grounds and who had served as caretaker there for many years before it was activated as a monastery. The envelope was a fancy Japanese gift envelope. In it was a “senbetsu,” a monetary gift given before a journey. I knew there was money in it, so I hadn’t opened it before but put it in my bag and forgot about it. When I came across it, I remembered what Toshiko had said when she gave it to me: “This is from me and Kimi [an old woman from the village below Shogo-ji who helped Toshiko take care of the place.] It’s wonderful you are going to sit Rohatsu sesshin. Please do your best for all beings.” I opened it, and found a five-thousand yen note, a sizeable amount for two old women living alone in the mountains.

As I looked at the money, many things began to come up. How could I go back? These two old women, who cannot sit sesshin, gave me a gift to help me. How can I go back now? I’m supposed to be sitting for them also, not just for myself. Katagiri-roshi used to say: “You don’t sit zazen by yourself; you sit with and for all beings.”

I began to feel terrible. I thought: If I go back, I have to face those old women. My days at Shogoji and Zuioji will be over, and I’ll have to go either to Hosshinji or back to America. Both moves would disappoint Katagiri-roshi immensely. He has high hopes for Shogoji and for me. I’d be letting him down, and I’d also be letting down everyone who has supported me here, Doctor Yamaguma (my Japanese sponsor), Zuioji’s Godo-roshi (the teacher responsible for daily training), who had been so kind to me and so helpful, all the temple supporters at Shogoji, and even Narasaki-roshi, who established Shogoji to help Katagiri-roshi by providing a place for American priests to train. What could I do? I couldn’t stay, and I couldn’t leave. I began to cry.

As I was sitting in the middle of the floor drying my tears, Ekai came in.

“Narasaki-roshi has spoken to the Godo-roshi,” he said. “Godo-roshi said you could use a blanket to sit on for sesshin.”

“I used one at Shogoji, and you said I could use one here. If I knew I couldn’t, I wouldn’t have come.”

Silence.

“I want to talk to Narasaki-roshi,” I said.

“He is preparing to go to the zendo.”

“Well, go tell him that I’m not, and I want to tell him why.”

Silence

“Are you going?” I asked.

“All right,” he sighed.

After Ekai left, I remained slumped in the middle of the floor. A blanket we weren’t using caught my eye. I folded it in quarters, put a zafu on top of it, and tried to sit zazen. Surprisingly, it wasn’t bad. The dear old Godo-roshi had come through for me again. More surprisingly, it was warm, not a small thing in December, where the zendo temperature at Zuioji lingers around 35-40 degrees mornings and evenings. The blanket was made out of a synthetic material that reflected my body heat back to me, and I thought, “Maybe I can do this.” I got another blanket, folded it in quarters, and put it on top of the other one. Now, it was almost like a zabuton.

I got up, put things away, and waited for Ekai to return. He reported that Narasaki-roshi would see me. Narasaki-roshi is a formidable person, and in a bad mood, he can be even more so. As I walked to the meeting room, I thought, “This is the beginning of Rohatsu sesshin, the most important practice event of the year. Narasaki-roshi has postponed entering the zendo at the start of sesshin to talk to me, a troublesome American monk who has annoyed him often in the past. This is not going to be easy.”

It was never easy talking with Narasaki-roshi. He never really carried on a conversation. He talked and you listened. He was used to monks saying, “Yes, yes, I understand” whenever he said something. Also, we always used a translator, who usually only translated a fraction of what Narasaki-roshi said, for he spoke fast and long, with little pauses. As my Japanese improved, I began to realize that whoever the translator was, he wouldn’t translate something I said to Narasaki-roshi if he thought it would upset him. So, I was not looking forward to this conversation.

When we started, Narasaki-roshi reiterated why I couldn’t use a zabuton. He also said that the Godo-roshi had suggested a blanket, and that I could use that, so we should go to the zendo now and join sesshin, which was just starting. He got up and began walking to the door. I interrupted – something he wasn’t used to – and told him, through the translator, that I wanted to explain why I was having problems. He sat back down, and I told him the history of my physical problems. I could tell that he was listening to the translator and that he was genuinely concerned, for the hard edge that he brought to the meeting had softened. I decided to go for the jugular, so I said, “One blanket is very helpful, but if I could have two, it would be very close to a zabuton. I could sit sesshin much more easily.” He stiffened and said, “Nonin, Godo-roshi and I have decided that you can use ONE blanket during sesshin. So, are you coming to the zendo or not? I realized then that I had gotten all that I was going to get, so I said, “Okay, thank you very much; I’ll go to the zendo.”

I had decided, however, that what Narasaki-roshi didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, so before I went to the zendo, I found a slightly smaller blanket in my room that would fit neatly under the blanket placed in the zendo for me. I took it with me, and when I put it underneath, I felt as if I could get away with it. I was sitting on what’s called the gaitan, a small sitting area outside the main zendo used by lay people, non-temple-resident monks, and senior resident monks who needed to leave often to do their jobs. Narasaki-roshi rarely went by there, so I figured that he wouldn’t notice!

I’m pretty sure, however, that he knew what I’d done. After lunch on the first day, he gave me a seat in the zendo proper that was usually occupied by a monk who was working in the kitchen during this sesshin. Letting me sit there was against procedure and was a very gracious and generous gesture by Narasaki-roshi. I’m sure he felt that I would benefit more from being inside rather than outside. When I was told during after-lunch break that my seat had been moved, I blanched and thought, “Oh no, I’ve been found out!” When I went back to the zendo the zafu and both blankets were the same as I was using on the gaitan. I sat nearly opposite Narasaki-roshi the whole sesshin. He had to have known.

As sesshin unfolded, things began to change. I began to see clearly that this was the place I was supposed to be, and I began to appreciate Zuioji practice deeply. All of Narasaki-roshi’s priest disciples had returned to sit Rohatsu sesshin, and although silence is usually observed during such retreats, they would gather during breaks and chatter and laugh together like a bunch of kids at camp. There were nuns and lay people sitting with us; some were disciples of Narasaki-roshi, some not. They, too, were light and joyous; everyone was clearly very happy to be there.

During lunch on the second day, a group of lay people, men and women who had donated and cooked the meal being served circumambulated the zendo, bowing with hands palm-to-palm. All the monks put their hands together and bowed in return. When a very old woman hobbled by in front of me, I began to cry, and all my resistance to practice at Zuioji and to Japanese culture in general dropped away. I saw the young monks who were having such a hard time being there, and whom I formerly resented, as no different from me. I saw the relationship of monks and nuns to lay people played out in beautiful ways, and I began to fully experience the intimacy of practice life in a Japanese monastery without being limited by my own views of how it should be.

Rohatsu sesshin at Zuioji became a joyous experience for me all the way to the end, and I was profoundly grateful to Narasaki-roshi for inviting me to do it and to the Godo-roshi for solving the zabuton impasse!

After the end of sesshin, we had a shosan ceremony, during which all the monks ask a question of the abbot. Narasaki-roshi had to leave to go to a meeting, so the Godo-roshi officiated at the ceremony. As I stood in line to ask my question, I thought of the couple of times during my first three months at Zuioji when I was having a particularly hard time, and Godo-roshi had sent his attendant to bring me to his room. When I got there, he was watching American-style professional wrestling on tv and drinking a beer! He waved me in, told me to sit down, offered me a beer, and began to point out, in Japanese, the intricacies of the wrestling match. I didn’t understand much of what he said, and he knew it, but we had a great time for about an hour, and when I left, it was in a great mood!

As I walked up and knelt before the Godo-roshi during the shosan ceremony. I began to cry. He looked down at me with infinite kindness, and said through a translator, “Nonin, this has been an important sesshin for you. Your wisdom eye has been opened, and you now see things clearly. I hope that after you return to Shogoji, you will come back to Zuioji many times.” And I did. I came back, however, as one of the guys, not as a disgruntled outsider, and it always felt good to return.

After I returned to Shogo-ji, I re-read a letter Katagiri-roshi sent to me in response to a complaining letter I had written to him during my first three months at Zuioji. He wrote:

Dear Nonin,

If you forget the practice of no self or egolessness, Buddhist practice does not make sense for human beings. It means how to use and manifest a self on a large scale and in a creative way. It is just like a skydiver who shows a very productive art in the sky on the basis of no self or egolessness.

From this point, I don’t know exactly whether or not American Buddhism today is correct or whether or not Japanese Buddhism is wrong. If no self or egolessness is not actualized in one’s life, Buddhism is nothing but an abstract teaching where no peace or no repose and bliss is found in one’s daily life.

It is beyond imagination how difficult your practice is in a foreign country. But please do not flounder in an emotional morass. Please deal with yourself and others calmly in current circumstances because our mission is to find out what is the true significance of Buddhism for all living beings, not for a particular being, in a long span of our future vision. There are many, many things or issues waiting for us to learn deeply.

I always pray for your health and your practice to Buddhas and Bodhisattvas every morning.

Gassho,

D. Katagiri

When I first received this letter at Zuioji, it wasn’t what I wanted to hear, so I filed it away. Re-reading it at Shogoji after returned from Rohatsu sesshin, I fully understood what Katagiri-roshi had written. I’ll always be profoundly grateful to him for sending me to Japan and to Narasaki-roshi for providing me the opportunity to sit Rohatsu sesshin at Zuioji.

]]>http://sweepingzen.com/rohatsi-sesshin-at-zuioji/feed/1Nonin Chowaney Interviewhttp://sweepingzen.com/nonin-chowaney-interview/
http://sweepingzen.com/nonin-chowaney-interview/#commentsWed, 13 Apr 2011 15:34:00 +0000http://sweepingzen.com/?p=26448Rev. Nonin Chowaney (b. 1941) is an American Soto Zen (OPW) priest, brush calligrapher, and the current abbot and head priest of the Nebraska Zen Center at the Heartland Temple in Omaha, Nebraska. A Dharma heir of the late Dainin Katagiri-roshi, Chowaney received Dharma transmission in 1989 and is the founder of an organization of ...

]]>Rev. Nonin Chowaney (b. 1941) is an American Soto Zen (OPW) priest, brush calligrapher, and the current abbot and head priest of the Nebraska Zen Center at the Heartland Temple in Omaha, Nebraska. A Dharma heir of the late Dainin Katagiri-roshi, Chowaney received Dharma transmission in 1989 and is the founder of an organization of Soto priests known as The Order of the Prairie Wind (OPW). Chowaney also has an affiliate center called the Lincoln Zen Group at the Unitarian Universalist Church in nearby Lincoln, Nebraska. Having studied Zen in Japan as well as at Tassajara Zen Mountain Center, Chowaney is certified by the Soto School of Japan and also chairs the Membership Committee of the American Zen Teachers Association and serves on the Priest Training Committee of the Soto Zen Buddhist Association. In 1999, Chowaney founded the Zen Center of Pittsburgh – Deep Spring Temple in Bell Acres, Pennsylvania and appointed Rev. Kyoki Roberts as the head priest. Then in 2001 he gave Dharma transmission to Roberts, his senior ordained student.

Transcript

SZ: I first want to ask you about your background before coming to Zen practice. What was your upbringing like?

NC: I was born in Auburn, New York in 1941. Auburn was an immigrant factory town, and I grew up there. My parents were second-generation Ukrainian. My grandparents spoke Ukrainian – very little English. My parents were bilingual, but they never taught me Ukrainian. They were assimilating and becoming American. My father and mother practiced Catholicism, the Ukrainian Greek Catholic version. When I was really young, church services were mostly in Ukrainian, so I didn’t know what the hell was going on. My mother was always pretty devout. My father was for a while; he read the Catholic rosary weekly on the radio. But, for some reason, he stopped, and I never knew why. When I think of my father, I’m reminded of the following poem by Rilke:

19.
Sometimes a man stands up during supper
and walks outdoors, and keeps on walking,
because of a church that stands somewhere in the East.

And his children say blessings on him as if he were dead.

And another man, who remains inside his own house,
stays there, inside the dishes and in the glasses,
so that his children have to go far out into the world
toward that same church, which he forgot.

Rainer Maria Rilke (1875-1926)
trans. Robert Bly

That was my father and I. He always stayed home and just sort of gave up on any sort of spiritual practice. I was the one who left on a spiritual journey.

My mother was always devout. It never made very much sense to me. As I mentioned, the church services were mostly in Ukrainian and I couldn’t understand it. After a while, they changed to English, but by that time, it had little meaning for me, and going to church was something I did because my parents did it. My mother and sister and I would go to church every Sunday, and my father would, just to annoy my mother, drive very slowly to church (she always wanted to get there early to sit in the front). My father, being somewhat passive-aggressive, would drive slower and slower (laughs). My mother would get very upset. I went through that every Sunday.

When I was a teenager, I got too big for my mother to continue making me go to church. I was a musician and played in bands, so I would play out on Friday and Saturday nights. I wanted to sleep in on Sunday morning. My father would say, “Let him sleep. He got home really late last night.” My father was really very good about things like that. So, I just kind of drifted away and didn’t really get interested in spiritual practice until I became interested in Buddhism as a high school student after reading the poetry of Allen Ginsberg and Gary Snyder. They kind of piqued my interest.

SZ: When was it that you first encountered Zen Buddhism?

NC: Not until years later—in my mid-twenties. I was very unhappy. I was teaching English at the college level at that time and was growing tired of that. My marriage was falling apart. I was pretty miserable. I had a friend from my hometown of Auburn, which is about 60 miles from Rochester, and he found out about a teacher there. My friend had been to Vietnam with the Army , and he was in a supply group that was next to a Zen Buddhist Temple. He grew fond of the monks, and when he got out of the service, he found that there was a Zen Buddhist Temple in Rochester, New York. He visited there and had them send me a copy of Philip Kapleau’sThe Three Pillars of Zen. I read it, and it gave a little bit of instruction on zazen. I remember going up to my wife and I’s bedroom, taking some blankets and pillows from the bed and sitting in a kneeling posture (Jap. seiza for about 10 minutes). I felt like I had come home. It was a profound experience. I never really kept up with it, though, not at that time.

Then once, when I was home visiting my parents, I met up with my friend and we drove over to Rochester and attended an instruction in zazen meditation there. That was in 1966, I believe.

SZ: So right about the time they had first opened.

NC: Yeah, right around that time. It was 1966 or 1967, something like that. Like I said, I never really kept up with it.

I eventually got divorced and quit college teaching. I went through a lot of changes from the time that I had first sat zazen until the time that I first found Dainin Katagiri roshi, I went through three different careers (musician, child-care worker, pipefitter/welder) had become involved in a serious love relationship after my divorce, and became a quasi-hippie. The time that elapsed between when I first sat zazen to the time I met Katagiri roshi was about 10 or 12 years.

I ended up in Minneapolis in 1978, I believe. I had wandered around quite a bit. When I was unhappy, I would start sitting zazen. Once I felt a little bit better, I would quit. I went through that cycle for approximately 12 years before I met Katagiri roshi and, once I met him that was it. I just jumped in with both feet.

SZ: Now, how did you first meet Katagiri roshi? What were your first impressions of him?

NC: I was welding pipe in upper Michigan. When the work ran out there, I got a job welding at a nuclear power plant outside of Minneapolis. I had some friends there, but I was lonely, didn’t have a girlfriend, blah, blah, blah. Same old story. I was pretty unhappy. So, I thought of zazen again. But I’d had a crazy dog up in Michigan who had eaten my cushions, my zafu and zabuton. I thought, Minneapolis is a big town, maybe there’s a Zen center here. I looked in the phone book under Z and there it was – Minnesota Zen Meditation Center. So, I called them up and asked if they sold cushions. They did. I went and knocked on the door and this young , tall guy in his early 20’s answered. His name was Mike Port, who today is known as Dosho Mike Port. He was the first person I met at Zen Center; we became good friends, and we remain so to this day. I told him why I was there, and he sold me a pair of cushions. I then asked whether or not there was a Zen master residing there. He told me yes, the teacher is Dainin Katagiri-roshi. He told me the roshi would be giving a talk on Wednesday and invited me to come.

I went back home and called some friends I knew back in San Francisco who were involved with Zen, and I asked them about Dainin Katagiri. They said that he was there for a while with Suzuki-roshi at San Francisco Zen Center and that he was really good, the real deal. So, I went on the following Wednesday to hear his talk. At that time his English was pretty bad, but something struck me about him. He was calm, peaceful, gentle, kind, centered, and grounded. Everyone clearly regarded him highly. In short, he was everything that I was not. I thought to myself about how I would like to be more like him. Eventually, he taught me that what I needed to do was to be more like me, completely. For that, I am really grateful to him. So, because of the example that he was, I jumped in with both feet. I went to zazen instruction the next week, and Steve Hagen gave me instruction. I started going to Katagiri-roshi’s lectures every Wednesday and Saturday morning and started sitting regularly at home and also at the zendo in the evening. That was 1978 or 1979, somewhere around there. I’ve been involved ever since, for the last 30 years.

SZ: It sounds like your having found a formal place to sit with others really helped to bring some structure into your practice.

NC: Well, there are three essential aspects to Zen Buddhist practice. Number one is sitting regularly. There is no way around that. The second is practicing under the guidance of a teacher. There is no way around that. The third is connecting with and practicing with a group. There is no way around that. Those are my three pillars of Zen practice: sitting zazen, practicing under the guidance of a teacher, and connecting with and practicing with a group.

In my experience, the easiest way to practice is in a Zen monastery. You get up with everybody and you go to bed when everyone else does. There are no two ways about it. You cannot follow your own inclinations. The second easiest way to practice is to enter a residential practice center in a city. The practice begins to get harder when you live on your own and go to the temple.

The absolute hardest way to practice is doing it on your own, without a teacher. Very few people can do that and besides, if they do not practice with the teacher, they do not really get any instruction. I always say that the person who tries to teach themselves has a fool for a student (laughs). That’s going to get a few responses (laughs).

Zen MasterDogen, the seminal figure in Soto Zen Buddhism in Japan, said, “If you are not going to practice under the guidance of a teacher, it is best to not practice at all.” I don’t know if I quite agree with that, especially with beginners, but because it is Dogen saying that, it is something that all Soto Zen practitioners need to consider.

SZ: The only point I would raise (and I’m sure you being in Nebraska you’re all too aware of this) is that many people living here in the United States have a hard time studying under a teacher on a regular basis due to their location, unless they were to enter a residential center, as you mentioned.

NC: Everyone can connect with a teacher if they really want to.

SZ: Maybe a couple times throughout the year…

NC: A couple times of year, over the phone, via Skype, etc. It is possible for everyone. In ancient texts there are many stories of people travelling long distances in China and Japan to connect with teachers, and the same is true today. In Zen Master Dogen’s Tenzo Kyokun, Dogen meets a tenzo who came to his boat to buy mushrooms for a special dinner. Later on, he visits the tenzo at his monastery just before the man is about to return to his home area in Szechuan province, over 1000 miles away. It probably took him a long time to get to the area in which he was practicing, near Ch’ang An, and it will take him a long time to get back.

There are people in out-of-the-way places in this and in other countries that make an effort two or three times a year to practice with a teacher. I’ve known people who lived in upper Minnesota who would come to the Twin Cities two or three times a year to practice with Katagiri roshi, sitting regularly and practicing under his guidance. People can come up with a variety of excuses for not seeking out and practicing with a teacher, but they’re just excuses, and over the years, I’ve heard them all (laughs). “I live too far away;” “I have children;” “I can’t leave my job;” “I can’t do this;” “I can’t;” “I can’t;” “I can’t.” Well, if you really want to, you will. I know people who have done it. I know people who have lived 300 miles from the nearest Zen temple who make it a point to get there at least a couple of times a year. It’s not a matter of “can’t” but of “won’t.”

NC: My dharma heir, Kyoki Roberts, is in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. You are in southeastern Ohio – that isn’t too far.

SZ: Perhaps not for the occasional trip. Right.

NC: Well if you look around where you are, you will find something. There are people all over the place. Stop making excuses, Adam. If you want to practice Zen, find a teacher.

SZ: I have looked for one but to me it isn’t like opening up a phone book and finding a place. Not for me, anyway.

NC: No, you go, and try Kyoki. You go, and try Dae Gak. You go, and try somebody else. I know a lot of people who never find anybody because they cannot submit to the practice. They cannot follow the teacher’s guidance. Whose fault is that? Is that the teacher’s fault or the student’s fault? I think it is mostly the student. A student that cannot find a teacher does not look hard enough and is also probably the kind of student who could not practice under the guidance of any teacher.

SZ : That is possible.

NC: I did it. All kinds of people do it. If someone says they cannot find a teacher I say go find one. Go look for one, and you’ll find one.

SZ: I’m really not trying to be argumentative, but there really is the financial issue, as well. Not everyone has the financial luxury to travel all over the place looking for a teacher.

NC: There are all kinds of excuses people can use, Adam. I’ve heard them all.

SZ: This may be a good point to segue into another question, which has to do with how people are using the internet to connect. Many teachers are utilizing the internet to give guidance to students who may need to live in remote areas or who are without the financial means to travel as often as they would like. For example, there is what you do on Zen Forum International (http://www.zenforuminternational.org/), interacting with people with an interest in Zen from all around the world asking questions about the practice.

NC: The first guidance that I give to people is to go find a teacher. If they have a simple question about zazen I can answer that over the internet. But the first question on how to practice Zen I answer with, “Go and find yourself a teacher.” Every teacher will tell you that. Every Zen master in Andy Ferguson’s books had practiced with a teacher. All the teachers that I’ve practiced with have practiced with their teachers. It’s clear that is what needs to be done. You are very limited as to what you can do over the Internet. I talk long-distance to students on the phone but not if they’re not my personal student. If someone called me and wanted to chat about Zen, I wouldn’t be interested. You have to make some kind of face-to-face connection. After that, we can talk. Dosho Port gives koan interviews via Skype and he says that it works in a limited way. I’ve never tried that because I don’t do koans.

I have students who have left here, moved away, graduated from college, got married, or relocated. They’ll call me on the phone, and I’ll talk with them, but they do also come back every once in a while. They maintain some kind of face-to-face relationship. So yes, you can use the internet in a limited way but it is my view that the teaching has to be face-to-face. There has to be that connection. There are certain things that you can see about a person face-to-face that you cannot see even via Skype. I’ve tried Skype. There are things you just cannot see through that medium that you can see when you are face-to-face. There is nowhere to hide when you are face-to-face.

Also, Zen Buddhist practice is not only zazen. It is not only shikantaza, and it is not only koan practice. We sit zazen; we do walking meditation, devotional practices (chanting, bowing, ritual, and ceremony); we do work practice and art practice; we have private interviews; we do ethical practices; we do academic and scholarly study. All of the above are part of Zen Buddhist practice. How much of this that you do depends upon the particular style of the teacher. All the teachers that I know from my activity in the AZTA and SZBA practice in these ways: ritual, ceremony, bowing, chanting, zazen. Zazen is the core of our practice but not all of it. If you just do something over Skype with somebody you only get part of it; you don’t get all of it.

SZ: I would agree with that. After all, part of the entire teaching process, a very big part actually, is how the teacher conveys the practice through their own example. You just cannot have a chance to see that, from the student’s perspective, if you are not around them for enough time to observe it.

NC: That’s true. Have you ever practiced under the guidance of a teacher?

SZ: I have though, as we kind of touched on, for a variety of reasons I was not drawn to them or there were difficulties. I don’t blame any of them for that, nor do I blame myself. I know that you had some difficulties in your relationship with Narasaki roshi, which you wrote about a bit in your piece on him published here at Sweeping Zen.

NC: Yes, but he was my teacher, or one of my teachers, the one I was practicing and studying with at Zuioji monastery in Japan. Sure, we always have difficulties but what you do when you have difficulties – leave?

SZ: Sure, there are always going to be difficulties but at some point it can be like living with a spouse without any love or romance left in the relationship.

NC: It’s not like living with a spouse (laughter). Jesus. It’s living with a teacher. Katagiri roshi was my master, and Narasaki-roshi was a main teacher of mine.

SZ: Yes, but that doesn’t mean…

NC: You seem to know a hell of a lot about master-student relationships and teacher-student relationships for someone who has never been in one. To be honest, you have a lot of ideas…

SZ: Well, I have been in that position, like I said.

NC: You have a lot of ideas. I used to squabble with Katagiri roshi. I didn’t have very many because he was my master, and I did whatever he told me to do. He made some mistakes with me. I made some mistakes with him. But, he will be my master until the day that I die. Katagiri-roshi used to get on Dosho’s case regularly. You know? He was really rough with Dosho. Dosho was a stubborn young kid, and he needed it. A master / disciple relationship is not for everybody.

SZ: I think that’s because everyone is different. Just finding a teacher isn’t the be-all end-all, not for me. You have to find the right teacher.

NC: No, you do not have to find the right teacher. You sound like some young kid looking for “The One,” the perfect mate, the person that I’m going to be with the rest of my life.

SZ: So it doesn’t matter who it is or what they have done…

NC: Just go there and practice. That’s all. If you think, well, I’m going to find “The One” – you know, that’s a myth. That never happens to young guy. Aw, I’m looking, looking for “The One.” I’m looking for my “soul mate.”

SZ: It will likely come as no surprise to you but I kind of look at the teacher as secondary to my practice, anyway. I’m far more interested in practicing with the community…

NC: That’s what I hear from a lot of people who don’t practice under the guidance of a teacher, that the teacher should be secondary and the community first.

SZ: I just feel that I have a right to my point of view as well…

NC: Are you interviewing me or arguing with me?

SZ: I just happen to have my own view on this and to have it discounted outright…

NC: You haven’t practiced under the guidance of a teacher, Adam. How do you know what it is like?

SZ: Again, not only have I but I also have had relationships with a whole variety of people in my life where someone is the superior and I am the underling. That power dynamic does not have to be experienced simply within the Zen context to understand such relationships. I personally feel it is far too simplistic to say that there is nothing more to it than just finding a teacher. That’s the angle that I am coming from which you continue to dismiss. That has been my experience. I have looked for a teacher…

NC: And every one you found was no good?

SZ: I haven’t had the opportunity to pursue that nearly as much as I’d like living here in Southeast Ohio on a set income. I can’t really get out to a lot of places where I currently am. The teachers who I have had the opportunity to study under, albeit briefly, while I respect them, we didn’t mesh. As I said earlier, I do not blame them or myself for that. Sometimes, two people simply do not mesh well together…

NC: Who do you look to as your teacher? Come on, say it Adam. You don’t have a teacher.

SZ: No, I do not currently have a teacher. I’ve already said that.

NC: Oh. Okay. There you go. So you don’t look to anybody as your teacher. Okay. You can do that. You can do whatever you want to do, Adam. You can do that, everyone can do that. They can do what they want to do. What I am telling you is what is the best way, based on my experience, and based on all the Buddhas and the ancestors. They all studied with teachers, except for Shakyamuni, who awakened on his own. But some would say that there are seven Buddhas which came before him, so he also had a history behind him. But, ever since Shakyamuni Buddha said be a lamp unto yourselves, people have misinterpreted it to mean that a teacher is not needed. However, Shakyamuni Buddha taught people for 40 years. People took over leading the sangha after he died and senior teachers continued teaching junior practitioners to the present day.

He did not want to lead the sangha, to get the sangha look to him as their leader and be so dependent on him that they couldn’t continue after he died. When he died, other people took his place, and this is how it has been in Buddhism since it began. Everybody points to Bodhidharma, who said: you need to find a teacher. He had a teacher and he taught students. People talk about Huineng, the sixth ancestor. He had an awakening. What he did after that was go seek out a teacher, the fifth ancestor. He practiced with him. Eventually, he then carried on the tradition, established and lived in a monastery and taught students. Linji (Jap. Rinzai), was the same way. People are always talking about people who supposedly never had teachers, or whatever. Rinzai studied with his teacher for many years and then he taught students for many years. Take someone like Bankei. Bankei was a temple abbot. He studied with his teacher and transmitted to other people.

This is our history. This is the way it goes. That’s the way it is, Adam.

SZ: Would you not say that, during those times in their respective places within Japan and China, that there was a wealth of teachers to choose from in one’s area? It’s only in its earliest years here in the West.

NC: I don’t think so. I don’t think that there was a lack or wealth of teachers. There were good ones; there were mediocre ones; there were poor ones. Just like in every field. There are excellent doctors, there are mediocre doctors, and there are poor ones. In any field, there are a handful of people at the top, a handful of people at the bottom, and the rest spread out somewhere in between. People traveled long distances to find teachers. People traveled around all the time in Japan and China. They went out on the road and looked.

SZ: But, those were usually pilgrimages where one intended to find or practice with a renowned teacher. There were many teachers of their time but maybe that one of great renown lived far, far away.

NC: So they’d go. They’d go, and they would find them. There are teachers around that get talked about as being very good – Haju Murray in Ann Arbor, Roko Chayat in New York, Tenshin Anderson in California, James Ford in New England, Bodhin Kjolhede in Rochester, N.Y. There are a lot of people with excellent reputations. People do go and seek those people out. Other people don’t. When I practiced with Katagiri-roshi, people came from all over the country and even from overseas to practice and study with him.

That’s our history, Adam. You cannot escape that.

SZ: No. I was never arguing that a person should not have a teacher. The only reason I really brought it up was that, in my own experience, it was not quite so simple – in that I just find any teacher and begin practicing with them. For me, it has been much like the situations I have found myself in any number of my other relationships…

NC: No it’s not. It’s not like other relationships. Not in my own experience. It is not. Taking someone as your master, as your Zen teacher, as your spiritual guide, is not the same as anything else I’ve ever encountered in my life. I’ve had mentors when I was an English major, I had mentors when I was a welder, I had mentors when I was a musician. My relationship with Katagiri-roshi was completely different.

Any more questions?

SZ: Yes several, actually. Is that alright?

NC: Yes. Go ahead.

SZ: Alright then, switching gears. Along with 43 of your colleagues, you had recently signed a letter of recommendation to Kanzeon Zen Center regarding how they should proceed in the aftermath of their teacher, Dennis Genpo Merzel, having revealed extramarital affairs to his sangha in Ameland, The Netherlands.

NC: That was wrongly attributed by Tricycle magazine as having come from the American Zen Teachers Association, but, it did not. It came from 44 independent teachers, a group that got together and decided to sign the letter of recommendation.

SZ: Right, because the AZTA isn’t a governing body – it does not make membership statements.

NC: We are just a loose organization. We don’t have any structure or anything like that.

SZ: So, my question is: what effect are you hoping such letters will have on safeguarding sanghas from this sort of thing happening going forward?

NC: I think that all of the letters that people wrote to the Zen Studies Society had a deep effect. The Zen Studies Society board took them seriously. I have heard that personally. Before those were all written and after that article was published in the New York Times, people were consulting us individually. Shinge Roko Chayat and Genjo Marinello are very well-respected by their peers in the American Zen Buddhist community. Their having our support meant a lot. Now, Eido Shimano is gone from there. Of course, a lot still remains to be resolved because there is money involved. But, they are working things out. There is a lot of healing that must occur. That is just starting, and it is going to take a long time. So, I think that writing those letters had a great effect.

How much of an effect will the letter regarding Genpo have? I don’t know. I don’t have any contact with people in Salt Lake City; they’ve always been kind of outside other Zen groups. Genpo was out there all by himself. That was a mistake. At any rate, I don’t know.

Things have changed over time. For instance, Katagiri’s group didn’t associate at all with Eido Shimano’s group. We were Soto; they were Rinzai. Those groups were grounded in a Japanese-style of family practice. You didn’t much connect with other groups. Later, Katagiri-roshi sent me to San Francisco Zen Center to study Abhidharma with Tenshin Reb Anderson. Today, people are traveling all over the place. I’ve been to Roko’s temple in Syracuse, I have taught at temple in Ann Arbor. I taught at Clouds and Water when Dosho was there, I’ve taught in San Francisco and at Tassajara. I’ve taught in a variety of places. Many teachers have come here to Omaha to lead retreats. Two Kwan Um Zen teachers from Kansas, Haju Murray’s, Judy Roitman and Stan Lombardo, will be here to lead a retreat in April. I’ve made connections with a variety of Zen Buddhist teachers because of the AZTA. I’ve taught at their practice places and they’ve taught here at ours. Teachers from different traditions have gotten to know each other through AZTA meetings and have realized that we have more in common than we do differences. The core of our practice is pretty much the same; the styles are what are different. In the AZTA, Korean Kwan Um and Chogye teachers, Rinzai teachers, Soto teachers, and Vietnamese teachers all interact. We have made a lot of Dharma friendships and are visiting back and forth. We’ve also learned, painfully, that sexual transgressions by Zen teachers (and other power abuses) are incredibly damaging, not only to the sangha directly involved but also to the mahasangha in its entirety.

It was only about twenty years ago or so when we started to take those things really seriously, you know? Sometime after Richard Baker and Shimano’s first series of escapades, we started saying, “Hey, now wait a minute. Every time we have these meetings we are talking about what we can do about this stuff.” We started to formulate ethics statements, in which it is made very clear that that kind of behavior is unacceptable. We developed processes by which transgressions may be rectified. It has all been changing for the better, but we still have a long way to go. When I first started practicing Zen with Katagiri-roshi in the late 1970s, people would snicker and look the other way. Now, that is not possible, and if writing letters has an effect, we write letters. In my view, however, after being involved in the AZTA and the SZBA for many years, the thing that has the most effect is when we all get together and say, to each other: “Look. This is what you need to do at your practice place to create a climate in which these power abuses cannot occur.”

Zen teachers need to make it clear to people – and we need to make it clear to each other – that sexual misconduct and other power abuses are unacceptable, that there are always negative consequences as the result of such behavior. The first law of karma is that negative actions have negative results.

Whether it’s fair or not, one Zen Buddhist teacher’s misconduct reflects on all of us, unless we condemn the misconduct in the strongest terms, which is what we’re trying to do. I get pissed off when I hear people talking about how all Zen teachers are this, all Zen teachers are that. Zen teachers are not all anything. As I go over the American Zen Teachers Association‘s membership list, as far as I know, of over 120 people, there are only maybe 10 or 12 who have been known to have sexually transgressed, and only two or three were repeat offenders. Now, there may be some that I don’t know about, but, it is a small percentage. When you think about it, 10% is an awful lot. It’s a lot as far as I’m concerned. But luckily it’s becoming less and less and less because people are realizing that they cannot do these kinds of things without dire consequences. In this culture, people will not accept it. This has occurred because we have all become much more connected over the years. For me, that’s something to be happy about.

SZ: On that we can agree. Something that I have been seeing in recent conversations are these analogies that are being made about how the relationship between a therapist and client is somewhat similar to the relationship between a Zen teacher and student. Some believe that the role of Zen teacher should be the role of a professional. When someone is a professional, they must adhere to a professional code of ethics. You know?

NC: Well, we do have a professional code of ethics in the SZBA, which all our members need to adhere to. We have an ethics statement here at our temple; there are clear guidelines regarding behavior for both student and teacher. It’s the same for a college teacher, a doctor, a lawyer, a therapist, anyone who is involved in a power-differential relationship. I started teaching in college in 1966, when I was 24 years old. Some of my students were older than me. I dated a couple of my students, and I married one of them; we were the same age. Two of my colleagues married students. It was a lot different if you were 60 years old and dating or sleeping with a 25-year-old student. If you were married, of course, that was a lot worse. However, things have changed tremendously over the last 45 years, especially when women started becoming more and more empowered, which was a tremendous development. So, things have changed a lot. But, it has got to change more.

I think that in Minnesota it is illegal now for any kind of spiritual teacher to have a sexual relationship with a member of their congregation. So, I think there will be more laws like that. It is a state law. I don’t know if there are any other such laws in other states.

SZ: Yeah, it will be fascinating to see where we are at in another 10 or 20 years. I do not want to belabor this point, but something else which has come up during these conversations has been this idea that teachers who receive dharma transmission might be well served by continuing to study under another teacher (someone who is a peer, perhaps). Because, often we find in many of these instances, where transgressions happen again and again, is like what you said earlier in reference to Genpo about teachers being isolated. Eido Shimano was pretty isolated too, really.

NC: And also, in the latter, the Board of Directors abdicated their responsibility. I’ve made it clear at our temple and the by-laws actually state that I serve as head priest at the discretion of the Board. I was hired, and I can be fired. Of course I have a lot of clout with the Board of Directors because of my position, my accomplishments, my history, and my relationships with my students. However, the organization’s Directors are the ones who have to look into any kind of teacher misconduct. The Zen Studies Society Board missed the boat. Finally, there was a Board that said no – enough is enough. But it took a hell of a long time.

That doesn’t happen in Japan (laughs). When I practiced at Zuio-ji and Shogo-ji monasteries, I found that the lay supporters of these temples had a great deal of power. They don’t put up with teacher misconduct. If you are practicing as a celibate monk as the abbot of your temple or if you are married, you aren’t allowed to have relationships with your congregants. If it becomes known, there is uproar. After I left Shogo-ji, the director there, who was serving as a surrogate teacher, had an affair with a foreign female student. The lay supporters were up in arms, and they contacted Narasaki-roshi, who was the guy’s teacher and the abbot of Shogo-ji. Narasaki-roshi called him to Zuio-ji and told him to bring with him his brown robe – his dharma transmission robe – which the man did. Narasaki-roshi took it and said to him, “If you want this back, so you can teach under my authorization again, you’ll put on a black robe, go to Eihei-ji monastery, and stay there for three years.”

In other words, he was to be sent to Eihei-ji as a novice monk, at the bottom of the order there. To the man’s credit, he did it. Here he was in his 40s practicing with 19 and 20 or 30-year-old monks at Eihei-ji monastery, which is sometimes referred to as a boy’s boarding school. People in Japan look at the situation with Eido Shimano and ask: “How could you let him get away with this? How could he be teaching and get away with it all? You ought to do something.” They’re frankly shocked.

SZ: One of the inherent flaws in having any Board of Directors at a Zen center is that, by their very nature, they are not autonomous. Members who sit on the board are typically direct students of the individual whom they will be investigating, should an event arise.

NC: Not necessarily. We have had a board member here who was not a practitioner and that has been and is the case at the San Francisco Zen Center as well. There are individuals who sit on their board who are leaders within the community outside of the Zen center and are not even Buddhist. But yeah, if you were on the Board of Zen Studies Society, you were there at Eido Shimano’s behest. What kind of by-laws were they operating under?

Here at Nebraska Zen Center / Heartland Temple, I serve on the Board of Directors but not as an official member. I do not have a vote. When somebody leaves the board because their term is up or quits, there is a call for nomination from the sangha at large. I refrain from nominating anyone. Who will they want to nominate? Usually it is just someone who wants says they’ll serve (laughs). But, there were a couple of times where people held a secret ballot, a sangha ballot. I have a vote in a sangha meeting, and a couple of times the person I voted for wasn’t elected. I can’t just say, “Okay, we are going to put this person on the board.” I don’t have the power. If they wanted to give me that power, I wouldn’t take it.

SZ: Sure. Boards are pretty much administered on a volunteer basis.

NC: Yes. At most places the roles are filled on a volunteer basis. Of course, sometimes we will say or ask a person, “Have you thought about serving?” Sometimes the person will say yes, sometimes the person will say no. If there is only one person, then it’s, “You’re it.” (laughs). We have a small place. When you’re in a big place it’s different.

SZ: Now in Japan, just out of curiosity, do you think that sexual transgressions are perhaps not nearly as prevalent because, like with the Soto-shu, they have what is an organized structure that can address such things?

NC: The power in Japanese temples, as within the Japanese monasteries, resides within these lay supporters. There is a president of the group – I don’t know what the entire structure is – but there’s a president, a Board of Directors, or whatever, but there is a lay sangha, also. The lay sangha has space in the cemetery – this is in Soto Zen Buddhism in Japan. These are the ones who donate money to the temple and are the ones who support the priest. They’re the ones who really keep the place going, and they don’t put up with that kind of stuff.

Katagiri-roshi told me once that when an abbot dies or leaves and a new abbot is selected, half of the congregation leaves. Maybe they don’t like the new abbot, and they go somewhere else. I don’t know how true that is, but it does happen. Narasaki-roshi told me once, “I can’t just do whatever I want to do here. I have people to whom I am responsible to.” This was coming from a heavyweight. He was also Vice Abbot of Eihei-ji and would have eventually become abbot Eihei-ji, if he’d lived long enough. In Japan, a teacher is not out there in a vacuum. You are responsible to people. Eido Shimano was responsible to nobody, and the Board of Directors gave him that power. I think that was because they felt at the start that he was somehow above or beyond human life. We sometimes viewed Katagiri-roshi in that way, but he was not a power-hungry person. And besides, he was married with two kids, and his wife would disabuse us of such silly notions whenever she could! (laughs)

I’ve met Shimano-roshi a few times. The guy does see things clearly. Unfortunately, he either forgot about the precepts or mistakenly believed that he was beyond them. This happens. Fortunately, he has finally been called on his behavior. Yet, he does have a clear dharma eye. By this, I mean a person who sees things very clearly, who understands emptiness and no self from a very deep place and who can guide students in practice. Unfortunately, his ethical conduct fell short. How often, I don’t know. As far as I know, there had been a fifteen-year period in which there had reportedly been no formal complaints. Now, I don’t know if there were no formal complaints because they were kept quiet or that there were no formal complaints because he kept his nose clean. I just don’t know. Finally, we see that something got done – finally.

SZ: About what you said there, about this dichotomy between seeing clearly and your personal behavior—are they ever separate?

NC: No, you can’t separate that. You don’t separate that. I asked Katagiri-roshi once about something like this and he said, “Oh, in Japan everybody understands, they know about the precepts. Here, people think that Zen practice is just zazen. That that is it. It is not.” He emphasized the precepts, and now I emphasize the precepts. Here in Nebraska we have a precepts ceremony once a month, where we affirm our intention to live according to the Sixteen Bodhisattva Precepts. We have a temple ethics statement, of which the precepts are a part, on our temple brochure table. We emphasize ethical conduct. A lot of people come to the practice and think that Zen Buddhism is zazen only. They don’t want to bow, they don’t want to chant, they don’t want to hear about the precepts, for they remind them of the Ten Commandments! That didn’t work when I was studying under Katagiri Roshi, and it does not work here. You want to practice Zen? Then, you do the whole thing or go somewhere else.

What happened with Shimano is that he went off. People do go off, and sometimes, very accomplished people go off. One of my own dharma brothers went off, and he knew the precepts. He knew what he was doing was wrong. But, he thought that he could get away with it. He thought that he was above it. Big mistake. He learned the hard way, but he did learn.

I also learned.

I learned when I went to one of those early Buddhist teacher’s conferences about twenty years ago. Speakers were Peter Rutter, who wrote Sex in the Forbidden Zone spoke, and Jan Chozen Bays, who had been involved in a relationship with her teacher years before and had worked through it. Chozen said something that stuck with me: “Students come to us broken. When you abuse them sexually, it is like child abuse.” I was struck by that, and I said to myself, “Geez, I gotta look into this stuff a little bit more.”

SZ: The analogy she made to families is, I believe, an accurate one. The entire Zen lineage is much like a family lineage.

NC: Very, very much. The structure in Japan is family-style, hierarchical. In the West, it still is to some extent, but in many ways, it isn’t. People here in Omaha practice with me as their teacher, for I’m the only teacher here . However, other teachers come here, and I encourage my students to go and study and practice with other teachers. I think that is the best way. That is what I did. Katagiri roshi sent me away to study with others. In that way you get a taste for different ways and different points of views. You get to taste a variety of different things. So, you can be very clear about stuff; in fact, I am writing something now which is going to appear in our newsletter, about breaking the precepts and how that happens. Of course, a lot of people have written about it, but I am writing about it from the point of view of getting stuck in emptiness.

It is an old thing in Zen Buddhism. People who think that they are beyond everyday life – that there is no self and there is no other to worry about. Or, they realize no mind, and there is no one to hurt. But what about the blood? What about the widow and the children, what about that? Many clear Zen masters have made that mistake in the past.

NC: Yeah. Well, like the samurai warrior Miyamoto Musashi asked of the Zen Master Takuan Sōhō of “How do I kill someone with no mind?” Takuan responded, “There is no self, there is no other, no one wielding the sword and no one to feel it.” In other words, “Just slice.” However, if you forget about the wails of the widow and children, you are stuck in emptiness, and you ignore the relative world. That happens.

I’ll send you a copy of the article that I’m writing on this subject when I get it finished.

In the Wild Fox koan, it is asked whether the enlightened master is beyond the law of cause and effect. The answer? The enlightened master is not beyond the law of cause and effect. Okay. I’ve got it now. That’s it. That’s why Dosho Port named his zendo Wild Fox Zen, because he thought that he could escape the law of cause and effect. You cannot, and he found out the hard way.

SZ: This reminds me of a conversation I recently followed on Facebook about social action, or socially engaged Buddhism…

NC: Yeah. I don’t really get that term. If you are not engaged, you are not a Buddhist. If you are not engaged in your life, then what are you engaged in? You certainly are not a Buddhist practitioner, as far as I am concerned, if you are not engaged in the life of your neighbors or the life of your community. Buddhist practice is not shutting yourself up in a room – you have to remain engaged. I am engaged in sangha; I am engaged in a lot of things. If by engaged Buddhism you mean being involved in social action, well that’s something different. Sure, get involved in social action if you want. That’s fine, but I don’t think that if you’re not involved in social action, it means that you’re not engaged. We are all connected, interdependent, and geared toward acting that way when we see clearly our true nature and out relationship to the rest of the universe.

SZ: And, while this is not necessarily in opposition to that, some would argue that in order to authentically practice Zen you have to go off into a monastery and disconnect yourself…

NC: No, that’s certainly not it…

SZ: There can certainly be that erroneous perception out there is all that I’m saying—a kind of stereotype about what is or is not authentic Zen practice.

NC: Yes, it is a mistaken view. In Soto Zen Buddhism, and also in Rinzai Zen Buddhism, very few people stay in the monasteries for the entirety of their lives, with the exception of a teacher or the abbot. People will go into the monastery for a certain length of time – I was there for eight years. Then, people leave and fulfill a variety of roles. If they’ve been ordained, some become temple priests, some monastery teachers, others become scholars/authors, therapists/healers, social activists, monks, worldly sages/hermits, pilgrims. Some of these roles are filled by lay practitioners, and some become lay teachers. I’ve been a temple priest for the last 20 years. I love going out to eat; I love movies; I interact with people have many friends. I am involved with my neighbors; I am also involved and have been involved in interfaith activities.

Some people think that Zen practice is something you do up in the mountains while living on nuts and berries – they are really mistaken. It’s a myth. Anyway, don’t get me started on that one.

SZ: Sure. Right, I think the argument is a perception that within inaction there can be no karma. But, I’ve always seen it from the point of view that inaction, like action, has its own sort of karma, too. A person might say that when you remove yourself from the world that right there, in that, there is a complete absence of karma.

SZ: I am. I think it is good the interactions we had earlier in the interview because not everyone is going to hit it off.

NC: I usually get along with people even though they don’t get along with me, Adam.

SZ: No, we’re good.

NC: I mean, in the American Zen Teachers Association, we have conflicts, we have dustups from time to time. I personally have had quite a few dustups with Grace Schireson. But, we both respect each other. We are both committed to the Dharma and we are both committed to clearing up this sexual misconduct stuff.

SZ: OK, next question. You had described Ikko Narasaki in your piece published here…

NC: Thank you for posting it, by the way. He was very important to me.

SZ: Oh absolutely. I was honored that you chose to and there was some good feedback on it on Facebook from people who had enjoyed reading it.

NC: What were their comments?

SZ: Basically, on Facebook there is a feature which allows people to ‘Like’ a particular post, and I recall several people ‘Liking’ the article. People were posting things like, “Good article.” That sort of thing.

NC: Good. I’m glad.

SZ: So you described him, actually both him and yourself, as being a very strong, stubborn personality. But you also said he would never hold a grudge from one interaction to the next—that he always responded to you with kindness. I just thought to ask about whether or not that is something you in turn try to bring to others?

NC: Yes I do. I try, anyway. It’s hard to drop that stuff and not carry it. Katagiri roshi was also like that as well. The thing with Narasaki roshi and I was that he knew I was a serious monk and that I was totally committed to this practice, that I was totally committed to helping establish it here in America. I, in turn, knew also that he too was totally committed to this practice and that he was totally committed to helping me. The most important thing was that we both shared this total commitment to the Dharma, allowing us to overlook our personal faults (laughs). He just didn’t listen to people. He was used to speaking and having other people just listen. I was different. I would give him an argument. Maybe that is why people give me arguments (laughs). Maybe that is my karma (more laughter). You know?

A lot of people argue with me, but I don’t mind arguing with people. Narasaki-roshi couldn’t handle it – he didn’t know what to do. Nobody ever questioned him. Also, we both had to talk through an interpreter because his English was nonexistent, and my Japanese wasn’t good enough to carry on a conversation with him. I remember asking very long questions and my interpreter would give him like, one sentence. I’d ask the translator, “Now, wait a minute. Did you ask him what I said to ask him?” He would say, “Oh, I can’t ask him that.” It was such a comedy. Narasaki-roshi would go into a long ramble, and the translator would give me all of it. I would go into a long ramble and the translator would give him one sentence. I’d say, “Tell him what I said!” The translator would say, “Noooo, I can’t say that to him.”

I didn’t have much dokusan with Narasaki-roshi. I didn’t have much dokusan with Katagiri-roshi either. In Japan, dokusan is more associated with Rinzai Zen because they do koan practice. But I remember talking to Narasaki roshi. He was just so kind to me. He knew that I was interested in doing calligraphy. He would take me with him when he went to the calligraphy store. He would ask me, “Is there anything here that you need?” He would buy it for me. I didn’t have any money, and he knew it, so he’d buy it for me. He’d encourage me.

In the monastery, at the first of the year, you always have a couple of days off. People come to visit the monastery, and the monks are all off of the schedule. We were expected to do calligraphy during that time. Narasaki-roshi asked us all to do a piece of calligraphy. My piece said “no birth, no death,” a very basic, simple calligraphy for I had just gotten started writing. So, we all put them on display, and Narasaki-roshi would make comments on them. One of the monks told me later that when he came to mine, Narasaki roshi asked, “Whose is this?”

The monk replied “Nonin’s .”

Narasaki-roshi said: “That’s pretty good.”

The monk told me that later, and I was so pleased. I didn’t think that it was so hot, but If Narasaki-roshi thought so, it must be. He was one of the best and most respected priest-calligraphers in all of Japan. His calligraphy was amazing. I still have some of his pieces – one of which I am looking at right now, up on the wall. He was fantastic. His opinion of my piece gave me such a boost. I just wanted to write more and more and get good at it.

Narasaki-roshi included me in everything even though I sometimes gave him a hard time. He was really something. Because he knew, you know? He knew that I was serious about this. I never meant to give him a hard time; I just really wanted to learn.

SZ: He must’ve seen this guy before him from the United States practicing under him in a Japanese monastery. That must’ve helped make clear to him that you are serious.

NC: When he first came to America – when I first met him, I said to him when he was leaving, “If I came to Japan to practice with you, would you make a good monk out of me?” He looked me in the eye and said, “You are already a good monk.” I thought to myself, “Geez, I really want to study with this guy. I want to practice with him.” So, I eventually did. He was something special – he really was.

SZ: So he was really your inspiration when it came to your decision to really pursue taking on calligraphy as a very serious aspect of your practice?

NC: Yeah, he was my inspiration – he really was. I kept it up as a result.

SZ: Yeah, that is one of the first things I hear in reference to you whenever you come up. Your calligraphy. It is definitely one of those things which you are known for.

NC: I owe that to him. He was the one who encouraged me. When you are being encouraged by someone who is a master at something, it really means something to you.

SZ: It is like Hemingway telling you that you can write.

NC: Yeah. Exactly. It was like Hemingway telling you that you had written a good story. A person would probably go back and start writing more and more and more. That is who Narasaki-roshi was for me. I was really very fortunate to have had such excellent teachers, which is why I always tell people to go and find one. When you find the right teacher for you it makes such a difference. I know that because that is how it was for me. I have had four main teachers and a lot of other ones along the way.

SZ: Okay. Thanks again for this opportunity to interview you today, Nonin. The last question I usually ask of interviewees regards book recommendations. Is there a book or books which you would recommend to people out there interested in Zen practice or in any of the topics which we have discussed today?

NC: In Soto Zen practice?

SZ: Sure, if that is what you would recommend. However you would wish to frame it.

NC: No. I write articles, but no, what I do is calligraphy. I’ve done a lot of articles for Prairie Wind, our temple news-magazine, but no, I’ve never been interested in writing a book. I have too much to do as it is, and I’m going to be 70 this next June. So, writing a book has never been important to me. I do all kinds of other things and have been writing articles for years. Anyway, thanks Adam.

]]>http://sweepingzen.com/nonin-chowaney-interview/feed/0Remembering Narasaki Roshihttp://sweepingzen.com/remembering-narasaki-roshi/
http://sweepingzen.com/remembering-narasaki-roshi/#commentsSun, 27 Feb 2011 21:29:48 +0000http://sweepingzen.com/?p=23129I first met Ikko Narasaki-roshi in 1985 at Hokyoji monastery in Minnesota. He had come to lead a retreat at the request of my teacher, Dainin Katagiri. Katagiri-roshi greatly respected Ikko Narasaki and considered him to be the foremost Zen teacher in Japan, so he was thrilled when Narasaki-roshi agreed to come to America. Katagiri-roshi ...

]]>I first met Ikko Narasaki-roshi in 1985 at Hokyoji monastery in Minnesota. He had come to lead a retreat at the request of my teacher, Dainin Katagiri. Katagiri-roshi greatly respected Ikko Narasaki and considered him to be the foremost Zen teacher in Japan, so he was thrilled when Narasaki-roshi agreed to come to America. Katagiri-roshi had worked very hard to convince him to come and to cultivate the relationship that later led to establishing Shogoji as an international Zen monastery, where I eventually practiced for two and a half years.

When I first met Narasaki-roshi in Minnesota, I was deeply impressed with his strong presence and his wholehearted commitment to Zen practice. Two years later, while I was practicing at Tassajara monastery, Katagiri-roshi asked me to go to Japan to practice at Zuioji and then to become the first Westerner to train at Shogoji. During my stay, I came to share my teacher’s respect and admiration for Narasaki-roshi.

Ikko Narasaki’s life was marked by effort, accomplishment, and integrity. He exhibited these qualities early on. When he was a boy, he showed great promise as a calligrapher and was entered in a nation-wide calligraphy contest to be judged by the emperor. He was much younger than the other participants, so the organizers gave him a sheet of paper with a faint pencil outline of the character to be written so he wouldn’t embarrass anyone by making a mistake. The boy was deeply offended by this, so he tore up the paper and used a fresh one! He then went on to win the contest. Later, he became one of the foremost priest-calligraphers in Japan.

Narasaki-roshi’s father was also a Zen priest and was his predecessor as abbot of Zuioji. After World War II, he retired and Narasaki-roshi succeeded him. At that time, there were few monks at the monastery, and it had fallen into disrepair. The practice had also been neglected. During these difficult times, Narasaki-roshi raised the necessary money and rebuilt the buildings. He then asked Hashimoto-roshi, a famous teacher who specialized in Zen Master Dogen’s style of monastic living, to come and rebuild the practice. Hashimoto-roshi had recently overseen the construction of the only Zen training monastery in Japan built to Dogen’s specifications and was not willing to leave. He told Narasaki-roshi that he couldn’t come because there wasn’t a suitable facility at Zuioji. So, believing that “if you build it, he will come,” Narasaki-roshi raised the money and built one. Hashimoto-roshi could no longer refuse, so he came and rebuilt the practice at Zuioji.

Over the next twenty-five years, many other famous teachers also came, and under Narasaki-roshi’s leadership, Zuioji became one of the foremost Soto Zen monastic centers in Japan. Ikko Narasaki and also his younger brother, Tsugen, both became renowned Zen teachers.

As young monks, Tsugen Narasaki and Dainin Katagiri had practiced together at Eihei-ji monastery. Later, they studied together at Komazawa University. After Katagiri-roshi came to teach in America, he would return periodically to Japan and would visit his old friend Tsugen Narasaki at Zuioji. During one of these visits, he asked Ikko Narasaki if he would help provide a place in Japan for Westerners to practice according to the ancient way.

[N]arasaki-roshi was in his sixties at the time and was extremely busy with many other projects, but he agreed to consider the request. After his visit to America in 1985, he began giving it more serious consideration, because he was impressed not only with Katagiri-roshi’s effort in Minnesota but also impressed with American Zen students and their commitment to zazen practice. So, he took the project on, and shortly after his return to Japan, began developing Shogoji, a small mountain temple of which he was also abbot, by sending two monks from Zuioji to live there.

In 1987, I was sent to Japan to practice as the first Westerner at this budding International Monastery. Over the next five years, Narasaki-roshi raised the money to build a full-fledged monastic complex according to Dogen’s specifications, the third in Japan. It was the second he was responsible for building, and the first to accommodate Westerners. In 1994, the first priest I ordained, Rev. Kyoki Roberts, began practicing at Shogoji and eventually trained as head monk there. International Training Periods are now held every year at Shogoji and are attended by priests from all over the world.

I’ll always be grateful to Narasaki-roshi for providing a place for us to train in the ancient Way. It was not easy for him, even with his considerable talent and energy. He was the ultimate Japanese traditionalist, and yet he took on a project that meant he’d be dealing with some of the most non-traditional people in the world. He was a monk; he lived communally and was totally committed to group practice. Yet he worked with people whose culture celebrates individualism and whose presence caused many problems in his monasteries. He was raised in a culture that assigns women a secondary role and lived for sixty years in a monastic system that virtually excludes women, yet he provided a place for ordained Western women to practice as equals with men. And he did all of this in spite of the strong objections of some of his staunchest lay supporters and of powerful priests within the Japanese Soto Zen hierarchy. He was able overcome their objections and do what he did because of his strength of character and his reputation. He was known as a totally committed follower of the Way and a person of the utmost integrity, whose only aim was to practice the Way and to help others do the same.

Narasaki-roshi was regarded as a strict traditionalist, and he was. But I also knew him as a kind and generous man who would do anything in his power to support Zen practice anywhere there was a need. He helped me immeasurably when I was in Japan, and he continued his support and kindness after I returned to America. He knew that Zen teachers have a tough time of it financially in America and he worked to have me qualified within the Japanese system so I could receive some financial support for my work in Omaha from the Soto Zen organization in Japan. He helped build connections for me with many people who have helped and supported me. And he did these things without my knowledge, out of the kindness of his heart.

I have many fond memories of my time with Narasaki-roshi. Once, I helped mix ink when he did calligraphy at Shogoji. People were always asking him for calligraphy, so he had a lot to do, and he worked all afternoon. There were only four of us there: he and I and two of his older disciples. It was a great opportunity to watch a master at work, and I soaked up all I could. Late in the day, I worked up the courage to ask him to do one for the sangha back in America, and he did; he wrote two characters: shugyo — practice. Then, I asked him to do one for me and he wrote the same two characters: shugyo — practice — in case I missed the point!

At another time, I was his attendant on the day of a big ceremony for lay supporters at Shogoji. There were hundreds of people there, and after the ceremony, many of them wanted to see Narasaki-roshi privately. I was ushering people in and out all day. He had travelled all the previous day to get there, was up late the night before arranging and planning, had missed lunch, and was obviously tired. I tried to get him to stop to eat, but he refused, so I fixed a tray and brought it to his room. He set it aside and asked me to bring the next person in. “People are waiting,” he said.

[L]ate in the afternoon, I said to him, “You’re very tired, aren’t you?” “Yes, I am,” he replied. “Why don’t you take a rest?” I said, “People will wait.” “Not until I’ve seen everyone,” he replied. I found out later that it was this way everywhere he went. He put himself out for people like no one I’ve ever known.

Once, he, another monk, and I were on a train from Zuioji to Shogoji. I had wanted to talk to him about something and reminded the other monk that I needed to do so. Narasaki-roshi had just settled into his seat with a book. We were coming from another whirlwind of activity at a big ceremony at Zuioji, and I really didn’t want to disturb him. But the other monk immediately said that I wanted to talk to him, and it was too late. I saw on his face that he didn’t want to leave the comfort and solitude he was enjoying, but he closed the book, and the momentary annoyance immediately left his face. He turned to me with complete presence and attention. I can’t remember having seen anything done more completely. I understood then what Suzuki-roshi meant by “burning yourself completely at every moment.”

Narasaki-roshi and I had many differences — different cultures, different generations, different values — and we clashed a lot. We were both strong personalities and both very stubborn. So things were not always smooth between us. It was somewhat like father and son. But he never carried any hard feelings from one interaction to the next. And whenever I gave him a hard time, he returned it with kindness. He taught me, or tried to teach me, for sometimes I didn’t learn too well, some very important lessons.

The day I formally left my monastic training period in Japan to return for good to America, I met with Narasaki-roshi and exchanged the ritualistic formal goodbyes between monk and abbot, and we had yet another argument. The details are not important and most are long forgotten anyway; it was yet another unpleasant clash. I stalked out of the meeting after accusing him once more of not listening to me and returned to my room to get my bags and leave.

I sat at my desk steaming and decided to open the gift envelopes I’d received from teachers and fellow monks and put the money in my wallet. It’s traditional to give traveling money when someone leaves the monastery to help them get back home. Monks don’t have much money, so everyone gives about ten or fifteen dollars, teachers a little more. I opened Narasaki-roshi’s envelope and found nearly five hundred dollars. He knew that I had no money. Katagiri-roshi had died a couple of months before, and Narasaki-roshi knew things would be hard for me back in the States, so he wanted me to go back with a few dollars in my pocket. I thought to myself, he did it again! I had gotten mad at him and given him a hard time and I got nothing but kindness and generosity in return!

Ikko Narasaki died in 1996. He was ordained a Zen priest at nine years of age and practiced as a monk for sixty-five years. At the time of his death, he was not only Abbot of both Zuioji and Shogoji monasteries but also Vice-abbot of Eihei-ji monastery, which is one of two head temples of Soto Zen in Japan. Narasaki-roshi provided a place for me to learn how to practice the Way and took care of me when I came to a strange country to do it. I’ll always remember his kindness. He gave a lot, and I still miss him sometimes.

]]>http://sweepingzen.com/remembering-narasaki-roshi/feed/0Narasaki, Tsugenhttp://sweepingzen.com/narasaki-tsugen/
http://sweepingzen.com/narasaki-tsugen/#commentsThu, 21 Jan 2010 18:53:35 +0000http://sweepingzen.com/?p=5319Pronounce: Tsugen Narasaki Tsugen Narasaki roshi (b. 1926) is a Japanese Soto Zen teacher, “one of the most respected Soto Zen teachers in Japan.”[1. Cedar Rapids Newsletter, Spring 2004] Born in Hiroshima in 1926, he ordained as a Soto monk at age 13 and later completed a degree at Komazawa University in 1948. Narasaki roshi ...

Tsugen Narasaki roshi (b. 1926) is a Japanese Soto Zen teacher, “one of the most respected Soto Zen teachers in Japan.”[1. Cedar Rapids Newsletter, Spring 2004] Born in Hiroshima in 1926, he ordained as a Soto monk at age 13 and later completed a degree at Komazawa University in 1948. Narasaki roshi entered monastic training at Eiheiji in 1949, training alongside Dainin Katagiri roshi under the tutelage of Eko Hashimoto roshi. He currently serves as abbot of Zuioji Training Monastery in Ehime Prefecture and at Shogoji Training Monastery in Kumamoto Prefecture. Zuiko Redding, guiding teacher of Cedar Rapids Zen Center, is a dharma successor of Narasaki roshi, as is Dr. Rosan Osamu Yoshida of the Missouri Zen Center; he is also the brother of the late Ikko Narasaki roshi.

]]>http://sweepingzen.com/narasaki-tsugen/feed/0Narasaki, Ikkohttp://sweepingzen.com/ikko-narazaki-bio/
http://sweepingzen.com/ikko-narazaki-bio/#commentsThu, 21 Jan 2010 12:06:37 +0000http://sweepingzen.com/?p=5185This biography is currently not listed on Sweeping Zen. Feel free to add it to the database. *Note: If you are not the subject or a representative, please write the biography in your own words. Copying materials from another website without express permission will result in the entry not being updated. Photo provided by Nonin ...

*Note: If you are not the subject or a representative, please write the biography in your own words. Copying materials from another website without express permission will result in the entry not being updated.

]]>http://sweepingzen.com/ikko-narazaki-bio/feed/0Rosan Yoshida Interviewhttp://sweepingzen.com/rosan-yoshida-interview-2/
http://sweepingzen.com/rosan-yoshida-interview-2/#commentsThu, 24 Dec 2009 11:16:30 +0000http://touchpointe.net/sweepingzen/?p=1531Completed on September 14, 2009 Rosan Osamu Yoshida is a Soto Zen priest practicing in the lineages of Dainin Katagiri-roshi and Tsugen Narasaki-roshi. He is founder and practice leader of the Missouri Zen Center and has an extensive background in Zen training in both the United States and Japan. The author of many scholarly works ...

Rosan Osamu Yoshida is a Soto Zen priest practicing in the lineages of Dainin Katagiri-roshi and Tsugen Narasaki-roshi. He is founder and practice leader of the Missouri Zen Center and has an extensive background in Zen training in both the United States and Japan. The author of many scholarly works and translations, Dr. Yoshida trained for 6 months at Zuioji monastery and completed his Zuise training at Eihiji and Sojiji. I would like to thank Dr. Yoshida for being interviewed on the site.

Transcript

SZ: How did you become involved with Zen practice?

RY: I studied Buddhism and Zen after my college days, but my actual practice of zazen started when I was in graduate school. I would attend zazen sessions at the Buddhist Youth Association of Tokyo University, led by Koryu Osaka Roshi, as well as sesshins at his Hannya-dojo in 1971.

SZ: Tell us a bit about some of your root teachers, Dainin Katagiri-roshi and Tsugen Narasaki-roshi.

RY: Kando Nakajima Roshi of the New York Zen Center was the one who recommended me to Katagiri Roshi, so when I moved to St. Louis I participated in sesshins at the Minnesota Zen Meditation Center under his guidance. I also participated in sesshins at the Nebraska Zen Center which were led by him when I taught at the University of Nebraska at Omaha. Katagiri Roshi warmly accommodated me in his home and allowed me to stay in a room at the Zen center. When Ikko Narasaki Roshi and Tsugen Narasaki Roshi (Katagiri’s good friend since their stay at Eihei-ji) visited the Minnesota Zen Meditation Center for sesshin and such, I joined with them and served as an interpreter. Katagiri Roshi told me to practice at Zuioji in Japan under both Narasaki Roshis’ guidance. Tsugen Narasaki Roshi, my next teacher to succeed, has been always very warm-hearted. I have been very lucky to practice under and succeed to these two Roshis.

SZ: You are someone with a foot in both East and West, with much of your training being done both in the United States and Japan. I’ve heard that the Japanese Soto-shu has only recently begun to officially recognize many of the Western ordained Soto priests. Do you think there has been this reluctance?

RY: Soto-shu has recognized formally ordained priests from early stage. I do not think they were reluctant to recognize them. Maybe there was some time needed to arrive at consensus, set rules, and take actual procedures. This is inevitable in big organizations.

SZ: A couple of years after completing your training in the United States under Katagiri-roshi, you decided to return to Japan to continue your training. What sparked that decision?

RY: As mentioned earlier, Katagiri Roshi instructed me to practice at Zuioji. I also thought it better for me to live and practice in a monastery. It is quite different living and practicing in a monastery—a mat for a man in sitting, eating, sleeping, etc. with co-practitioners for long periods—in comparison with visiting or practicing there for a short period. Life in Japan, in and out of the monastery, is quite different from life in the United States—there are different traditions, cultures, customs, manners, etc.

SZ: On that point, how important is keeping such things intact when Zen Buddhism enters another culture? For instance, should Westerners recite sutras in their own language?

RY: It is very important that we understand the sutras, so it is important that they are translated in a person’s native language—for one should understand, and appreciate, the background and content of the sutras and practice. It is best practice to visit and actually live in the place and time of that content and background, to practice in the actual environment with culture, etc. The natural, social and spiritual environment, with actual manners and behaviors, can vary greatly in different geographical and social settings. Japanese tradition and American tradition are almost opposite, representing East and West with different climates, industries, societies, religions, languages, etc.: monsoon (hot, abundant rain)/monsoon-less (cold, little rain), rice without cattle/wheat with cattle, collectivism/individualism, natural/artificial, world-to-incoming/self-to-outgoing, etc. These differences are ingrained into life values, living conditions, and live manners, etc.—cannot be learned by ideas and concepts alone.

SZ: Tell us about your sangha at the Missouri Zen Center, which you founded. How are relations with other Buddhist groups and organizations?

RY: Our sangha is very warm and open, like an intimate and free family. We have very good relations with other Buddhist groups through the Buddhist Council of Greater St. Louis and otherwise share in common events (Vesak Day, Mindfulness Day, Change Your Mind Day, lectures, etc.). We participate in interfaith gatherings and community events like the Japanese Festival at Missouri Botanical Garden, which is a wonderful cooperation and collaboration between our members and friends.

SZ: Dr. Yoshida, thank you so much for this opportunity to talk with you. In closing, what book or books would you recommend to someone interested in Zen?